


Hot Air

by Shrift (LFN_Archivist)



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 15:25:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17490482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFN_Archivist/pseuds/Shrift
Summary: This story was originally posted to the LFN Storyboard Archives by Shrift.





	Hot Air

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first fanfic story I ever wrote (and never archived), dusted off a bit and posted to the boards for the second time. It's kinda cute, but it was definitely my freshman effort!

"What do you mean it can't be fixed?" Operations fixed his icy glare on the short-haired computer genius. 

Birkoff wiped the sheen of sweat from his upper lip and pulled off his glasses. The tinted lenses were beginning to fog over. "It can be, theoretically. But you had a standing order with Supply to replace the unit when it failed." 

"Can the order be rescinded?" 

"Unfortunately, no. They've already begun removal," Birkoff said, fingers flying over his keyboard. 

"But we still have outside ventilation?" Operations asked. His lips were spread in a thin, one hand clenching and unclenching at his side. 

"We won't suffocate, if that's what you're asking," Birkoff answered flippantly. 

"How long?" 

"At least 48 hours." 

"Fix it," he hissed and turned towards the stairs. 

"Sir," Birkoff called. "Are we continuing close quarters standby?" 

Operations smiled coldly. "Of course." 

Madeline was waiting at the stairs to his eyrie when Operations strode from Comm. "Do you think that is wise?" she asked quietly, her hands folded demurely at the front of her brown suit 

"They're cold ops, Madeline," Operations answered, grasping the metal railing in preparation to ascend. "A little heat won't kill them." 

************ 

"I can't believe it, Walter." 

Walter peered up at Nikita, halting his work on his latest gadget. "Can't believe what, sugar?" 

She tapped his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Your leather jacket?" 

He grinned self-consciously. "It's almost a hundred degrees in here, sugar. Do you want me to get heatstroke? Especially when you visit me in that get-up." Walter readjusted his sweat-soaked bandanna and leered. His hands hovered over Nikita's curves and he shook his head. 

Nikita was wearing a white tank top and her shortest miniskirt. She had pulled her hair haphazardly off her neck. "It's been six hours," Nikita said, idly tracing a pattern on the counter. "You'd think the air-conditioning would be fixed by now." 

"If you're fishing for information, a little birdie told me that it could be _forty-two_ more hours before we see any relief," Walter told her sagely and returned back to the laser sight he had been 'improving'. "Now go bother somebody else, sweet thing." 

"Why Walter," Nikita drawled over her shoulder as she ambled back towards Systems. "Do I get you all hot and bothered?" 

Nikita continued her waltz into the empty briefing room. _Thank god_ , she thought to herself, _that these chairs aren't plastic_. The last thing I need is my skin to Zip-Lock itself to the upholstery. 

The door slid open and Birkoff stomped inside. He looked slightly uncomfortable in his voluminous jean shorts and gray T-shirt. Nikita's lips curled in a small smile as he seated himself beside her. Obviously, Birkoff didn't get much sun. A few more vaguely familiar cold ops filtered in, soon followed by Operations. 

He had refused to give in to the heat and still sported a dark turtleneck. He appeared outwardly unaffected; the only thing that ruined the illusion was the fact that his glasses kept slipping down his nose. 

Michael arrived uncharacteristically last and Nikita's desultory blue gaze followed his progress across the room. Like Walter, he had temporarily shed his black jacket, instead opting for a black, v-neck T-shirt with his regular form-fitting black pants. The humidity in Section One was making his hair curl, falling in a riotous tangle around his ears and forehead. He met Operations' glare with his studiously blank mask and seated himself on Nikita's right. 

She swore under her breath as her body hummed in response. His thigh had brushed lightly against her leg and she discovered that the heat had reinforced his musky, masculine smell. For the first time in six hours, Nikita was fervently glad of the heat; no one would notice the aroused flushing of her cheeks. Nikita suddenly became aware of the buzzing sound of Operations' voice; she returned her attention forcefully from Michael's hands and back to the briefing. It was dangerous to think of what he could do with those hands... 

"This is Philip Abbott. He is a CIA agent suspected of illegally selling weapons in several Middle Eastern countries." Operations stopped his measured pacing. "Ames, Jackson. You will be conducting twenty-four hour surveillance beginning in three hours. Nikita, you will supervise from Systems. Michael will assist you. After our most recent security breach, this is the only mission on the roster." He paused for effect. "Let's not get careless people. Any questions?" 

None were forthcoming from the five blank faces before him. "Good," he replied. 

"Michael," Nikita said as the briefing room began to clear. She knew she was stalling him, and so did he. "Why aren't there more missions?" 

Michael his head and regarded her for a moment with his grey-green eyes. "It happens," he said softly. 

Nikita watched him stand up smooth and walk out the door, his every movement smooth and graceful. She didn't even notice when Walter reached over and closed her jaw. 

************ 

"Birkoff?" 

"Yes, Nikita?" 

She shoved a few stray hairs behind her ear. "How long?" 

Birkoff grimaced at the too-familiar question. "Eleven hours, forty-three minutes, and five seconds." 

"It's only been three minutes?" she moaned, sprawled limply in a chair a few feet away. 

"Eleven hours, forty-three minutes, and eighteen seconds," was Birkoff's pert reply. 

Nikita groaned. "Okay, okay. Don't remind me." 

Birkoff frowned suddenly. His people had gone very quiet at their terminals behind him and his new screen wasn't as reflective as the older one it had replaced. "Hey, Nikita. I'm busy here. Could you tell what's going on behind me? That is, if you aren't too busy with your _surveillance_." 

"Ha ha," Nikita said dryly and lolled her head back obligingly. She didn't see anything other than Michael, who was approaching with his confident stride. Wearing that T-shirt. Nikita flicked her eyes to the all-female team, sitting at their consoles, and noticed that she wasn't the _only_ one noticing Michael. He came to a stop to the left of her chair. She could still see the reactions of Birkoff's _people_. 

"Anything?" Michael prompted. 

"Nope." Nikita's attention was being drawn by the women licking their lips and elbowing their neighbors behind Michael. 

Michael waited for her to clarify. "Our Mr. Abbott has been asleep the whole time, Michael." 

"Keep me informed," he said and walked back towards his office, giving Nikita an eyeful of what had caught so much attention: Michael's rear end, displayed to perfection in his jacketless state. 

Nikita scowled at Birkoff's team. "Did you catch a load of that?" one girl demanded rather loudly. 

"What's up with them?" he murmured, eyes glued to the monitor. 

"I think the heat is starting to get to them," Nikita answered archly. She propped her feet up and continued to eavesdrop. 

************ 

Nikita stifled a yawn and attempted to rub the kinks out of her neck. Her last time check had informed her that she had lasted twenty hours and four minutes since the air-conditioning went out of whack. And she'd been supervising Ames and Jackson for ten straight hours. 

Nikita glanced around. Systems was nearly empty. Birkoff had gone in search of food about a half-hour ago. Nikita was bored. 

She knocked on his door and slipped inside. 

"Why aren't you at Systems?" Michael didn't bother to look up as he continued his paperwork. 

Nikita plopped herself down in the chair opposite his desk. "I'm bored and hungry and Birkoff ran out of Oreos." 

He finally looked up and she caught his eyes. "Michael, I thought you were supposed to be assisting me on this." 

He opened his mouth and breathed in; Nikita was momentarily transfixed. "Do you need too be relieved?" 

Nikita recalled herself, allowing herself one moment to wonder how he could make such a plain statement sound like an invitation to make passionate love on his desk. Nikita passed a hand over her forehead. "Yes, Michael. As a matter of fact, I do need to be relieved." She threw her comm unit on Michael's desk; it slid onto his lap, causing Nikita to abruptly stand up. "I'll be back after I've showered and eaten." 

"There isn't any cold water," Michael voice reached her and she paused at the door. Nikita swung around guiltily, wondering if he'd guessed at the 'desk fantasy' that had been playing out in her head. "It doesn't get much cooler than room temperature," Michael continued, eyes back on his screen. "It seems that is broken, as well." 

Maybe the heat's getting to me, too, Nikita thought grimly. Nikita slowly expelled a breath and tapped her closed fist against the door frame. "Yeah, uh, thanks." 

************ 

Nikita sighed happily as she slipped the sun dress over her head. A meal, a shower and a short nap later, she felt, if not completely refreshed, less sticky. She slid on her green, plastic sunglasses and a pair of hideous white platforms she had dug out of the closet. 

I really need to keep more things here at Section, Nikita mused as she turned down the corridor towards Systems. I feel like Summer Fun Barbie. 

Her good mood dimmed slightly as she approached Birkoff's station. What had been deserted an hour before fairly swarmed with female operatives. Michael was sitting perpendicular to Birkoff, completely self-contained and seemingly unaware of the covert attention he was receiving. He uncrossed his arms at her approach. 

When Nikita was only a few feet away, his scent assaulted her senses and ruined some of the good the shower had done. His hand brushed hers as he handed the comm unit back. 

"Will that be all?" 

Nikita nodded and claimed his vacated chair. Her knees weren't feeling too steady. Michael turned and immediately bumped into a young operative with dark, curly hair. "Umm, could you have a look at this, please?" she asked breathlessly. 

"This is the reconnaissance from the Nadrazi mission," Michael said, glancing at the PDA. The girl visibly suppressed a shiver when Michael said the word, "reconnaissance," in his accented English. He handed the PDA back to her. "The Nadrazi mission ended ten days ago." 

When Michael's door had closed, the girl got high-fives from three other operatives. "Okay, I got him to say 'reconnaissance.' Now it's my turn to use the fan." 

"Way to go, Carrie!" 

"I could listen to him read the technical manual for a Wire Feed Mig Welder all night long." 

Carrie grinned. "It's not like the fan's gonna help when he's around, anyway." 

"Why don't they grow up?" Birkoff snapped irritably, snatching up a Twizzler. Michael's scent was fading and Nikita shook her head to clear it. Most of the operatives had already drifted away. 

"Pheromones," Nikita said suddenly. 

"What?" Birkoff demanded. She patted Birkoff's head. 

"Pheromones," she repeated, almost too cheerfully. Nikita swung the chair around and planted her elbows on the table. That's when she saw Madeline observing from up above. 

************ 

Thirty-two hours, fifty seconds and counting, Madeline observed, a small smile hovering on her carefully made-up lips. This unforeseen situation was escalating nicely. Madeline suppressed a chuckle as Michael emerged from his office and approached Nikita again. Female operatives and techs spilled immediately into Systems. A few of the more audacious bumped into him, placing themselves directly in his path. One amorous woman managed to slip in a caress, plowing forcefully into Michael's chest while pretending to read a printout. Madeline noted as Michael maintained his calm exterior, gently moving the tech to the side and continuing his hampered onward approach. 

Michael leaned forward and placed his hand on the back of Nikita's chair. He glanced upward, and Madeline caught his harried expression. Harried for Michael, she amended silently. 

"Report, Nikita," he stated huskily. 

She turned to glance up at him and regretted the decision. Sometime in the space of ten hours, he had changed shirts. The zipper of his short-sleeved, spandex shirt dangled at eye level. Nikita fought to regain control of her breathing. 

"Well. He slept, woke up, ate breakfast, went to church, ate dinner with his family, and watched college football until his wife nagged him to mow the lawn. He mowed the lawn and watched college football again...then he took his family to see his invalid mother in a nursing home. He arrived back home six hours ago, played dominoes with his wife and sister, and then went to bed," Nikita recited. She grinned sweetly and looked him in the eye. "He's a terrorist with air-conditioning, Michael. I think we need to send in a team now to take care of him." 

"Nikita," Michael began, his eyes tightening with a warning. Before he could finish, Carrie approached with an apologetic smile plastered on her face. She reached her arm between Nikita and Michael and tapped a sequence into the terminal. Upon pulling her arm out, Carrie caught her charm bracelet _accidentally_ on Michael's shirt zipper. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she gasped and attempted to disentangle the bracelet from him. She pulled her wrist towards her and unexpectedly down. She leaned over to better see, eyes level with Michael's silver belt buckle. Nikita bit her cheek at the sight. Michael stood there patiently, zipper past his navel, as Carrie fidgeted ineffectively. After a moment, Michael's hands closed over Carrie fingers. Her eyes flicked up nervously and she swallowed; Michael bent his curly head and freed the bracelet in a matter of seconds. Carrie smiled weakly at his sculpted chest and backed towards her terminal and the silent throng of appreciative women. 

Michael's hands fell back to his sides. He threw Nikita an unreadable glance, but her eyes focused about a foot lower than normal. He cast another look up at Madeline and began his retreat to his office. 

"Birkoff," Madeline said, pressing a button. "Have Michael meet me in my office after he spars with the new recruits." 

"What is going on down there, Madeline?" Operations demanded, having ascended the stairs in record time. 

"You are referring to the Abbott mission?" Madeline asked helpfully as Operations' hurried gait carried him within a few feet of her. 

"No, I am referring to that little scene with Michael and our oversexed support staff," he snapped. "Exactly why are they attempting to strip Michael in the middle of Section?" 

"This appears to be a recent development," Madeline said blandly. "I believe it has something to do with the heat." 

Operations took a step closer. "Do you think this is funny, Madeline?" he asked, voice low. 

Unperturbed as usual, Madeline met his gaze. "Actually, I am finding it very informative." 

"Have you talked to Michael?" 

"I will," Madeline said, her brown eyes turning back to observe Comm. 

"I am assuming you will take care of this," he stated, waiting for confirmation. Madeline smiled. Operations nodded slightly and headed for his office. A thought occurred to Madeline and she blinked. She really ought to monitor the sparring session. 

************ 

Michael blinked and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He would have used his tank top, but a recruit suffering from heat exhaustion had fainted. Her death grip on his shirt as she had fallen to the floor had ripped the shirt right off his back. She was currently sitting against the wall with her head between her knees and his torn shirt pressed against her nose. 

A burly twenty-five year old rushed Michael from behind and put him in a bear hug, lifting the older man off the floor. In the process of setting Michael back down on the floor, he tightened his grip to keep contact as Michael's body slid down. The recruit's hand slid down Michael's chest and started to venture south of his waist. 

Michael was not amused. He snapped his head, the back of his skull connecting with and bloodying the recruit's nose. Nikita was just walking by the training room when she saw Michael throw the much larger young man forward over his shoulder. Michael ended the maneuver in a crouch and Nikita's breath hissed out. The man had beautiful thighs. 

She sauntered into the training room and toed at the downed recruit with her shoe. "Get Medlab in here," she said, looking at Michael. Someone left the room to comply. 

Michael's eyes had clouded over and she tugged the hem of her royal blue, lycra minidress a fraction of an inch lower. Nikita smiled slyly; the thing had more holes than fabric. 

"Madeline would like to see you now," Nikita said and walked around the prone body on the floor. "She says you don't need to get cleaned up." Nikita tapped her finger on his bare chest. "Just get dressed." Her forefinger trailed downward, coming to rest on his belt buckle. The muscles of his abdomen contracted involuntarily. Michael seemed to hesitate a moment, but then side-stepped her to go back to his office. Nikita followed him at a safe distance with her scorched forefinger in her mouth, tasting salt. She stood near Birkoff and watched through the window as Michael shrugged on another T-shirt and ran his fingers through his wild hair. Her left hand twitched in response. 

Michael saw her as he came out. The sight of Nikita sucking on her finger with her blue eyes narrowed seemed to snap something inside of him. His face remained a mask, but his stride was clipped and angry as he made his way across Section to Madeline's office. Any operative that approached him ended up on the receiving end of a cool look of disdain normally reserved for people named Petrosian. Carrie stopped dead in her tracks and fidgeted, only to turn on her heel and return the same way she came. Michael disappeared into Madeline's office and she tossed the quarter onto a table. 

"Somebody else gets to bounce the quarter off his ass," she announced and flounced back to her terminal. There was a collective sigh of disappointment. 

Nikita finally removed her finger from her mouth. "Birkoff," she cajoled. "Do you have any chocolate?" 

"C'mon, Nikita. You already ate all of my Double Stuff Oreos," Birkoff protested, moving to protect his junk candy drawer. 

"Birkoff, I respect the fact that you are an adult and nearly indispensable to Section One," Nikita said and curled her fingers into the fabric of Birkoff's shirt. She wrenched him forward so that they were almost touching noses. Nikita seemed to forget that she was wearing her strapless blue number and Birkoff's eyes widened appreciatively at the glimpse of cleavage. "So help me God, Birkoff, if you don't give me some chocolate right now -" 

Birkoff's arm shot into the drawer and he rummaged around to pull out a Cadbury Egg. He held it out to her in supplication. "Here! Here, just take it. I've got work to do, Nikita." 

Nikita snatched the Cadbury Egg from his hand and tore the foil wrapper off. One bite later, half the egg was gone and Nikita was sulking in a chair. 

Birkoff ran his hand over his short hair. "Why don't you go talk to Walter, or something?" 

Nikita smiled brightly at the idea and jumped from her chair. 

"Hey Walter," she called, popping the last of the egg into her mouth. 

Walter's mouth dropped open. "Whoa there, sugar." He pressed his hand against his heart. "You're really gonna give me a heart attack some day," he said, eyeing her dress. "Would Operations let you out of Section if he knew you were wearing that?" 

Nikita seated herself on Walter's stool since he seemed fixed to the floor. "He has before," Nikita replied and picked up Walter's penlight. 

"Say, sugar. What did you need that extra surveillance equipment for? I didn't think there was much going on with the Abbott mission besides grass clippings." 

"What extra equipment?" Nikita asked absently, shining the penlight down the barrel of a half-assembled gun. 

"The equipment that Carrie picked up for you about fifteen minutes ago." Nikita's eyes narrowed and she walked quickly back to Comm. "I guess I'll see you later," Walter shrugged. 

Birkoff intercepted her before she could corner the curly-haired tech. "Nikita!" 

"Yeah?" 

"Madeline wants to see you in her office." 

Michael's door was closed, but the blinds were open. He was inside. 

"Tell Madeline I'm on my way." 

************ 

"Have a seat, Michael," Madeline directed, tapping a few more keys. Michael advanced carefully down the steps and moved to inspect the progress of the bonsai, hands clasped loosely behind his back. Rethinking the idea, Michael spun and sat down in the chair Madeline had offered. Too many people had been directing comments at his back today, as it was. 

"What do you think of this situation?" she asked gently. 

Michael leaned back and steepled his fingers. "Situation?" 

Madeline blinked twice. Michael's sprawl was certainly out of character. "You know what I mean." 

"Yes." With the flat statement, Michael tilted his head slightly and a lock of hair fell onto his cheekbone. Madeline watched as he brushed it carelessly behind his ear. 

"Doesn't it seem strange that only you are experiencing trouble with...unencouraged amorous advances?" 

"Yes." Michael's eyes gleamed; she was making this too easy for a veteran like him. 

Madeline breathed deeply to gather her thoughts. It seemed to work. "What do think is the cause of all this?" 

"A combination of the heat, close quarters standby, and poor ventilation," Michael answered after a moment. His pause was just long enough so that Madeline couldn't determine if he had already considered the question beforehand. 

"But then why does this condition only afflict those who are attracted to males? And why does it only manifest during close proximity to you, Michael?" 

His grey-green gaze met hers steadily. Madeline took another imperceptible deep breath, which proved to be her downfall. Clinically, Madeline took note of her elevated heart beat, the humming in her ears, and her inability to recall her last question. 

"Do you like it, the way they stare at you?" she asked. 

"No." 

"Well." Madeline returned her fingers to the keyboard. Michael took the cue to leave. Madeline smiled as she watched Michael's retreat to his office. He progressed about as fast as if he were trying to cross the dance floor at a salsa club. 

This situation was turning out to be very informative for Madeline. She had yet to complete her psychological analysis of the four recruits Michael had sparred with earlier. She confirmed her suspicions that the burly Greg had bisexual leanings, but the biggest anomaly was Shannon. Her complete lack of a reaction to Michael suggested to Madeline that Shannon was a lesbian, something that her current profile had not hinted at. This new sexual orientation barometer held much promise. 

"Birkoff," Madeline said suddenly. "Find out if Section One has ever had problems with the air-conditioning unit, going back fourteen years. And Birkoff, could you send Nikita in to see me, please?" 

Nikita entered Madeline's office reluctantly. She had to walk down the steps sideways to avoid flashing Madeline, something Nikita thought the older woman wouldn't appreciate. At Madeline's suggestion, Nikita took a seat and crossed her legs primly. She seemed to be amused by Nikita's outfit. 

"Have you noticed any unusual behavior from your fellow operatives, Nikita?" 

"Unusual behavior?" Nikita repeated, echoing Michael's earlier reply. 

Yes, anything out of the ordinary." 

"Well, I wouldn't call women falling all over themselves because of Michael out of the ordinary," Nikita quipped, folding her hands on her knees. "But there does seem to be something unusual going on." 

"How would you describe it, Nikita?" 

"It seems to be a collective obsession with Michael and it's progressing quickly," Nikita said, capable of clear thought as long as Michael wasn't nearby. 

"Yes?" Madeline prompted. 

"Well, it started with just watching, ogling, I guess. Then it progressed to interacting with him, speaking to him. Now women, and not a few men, are doing anything they can to touch him." Nikita grinned. "In a couple more hours, Madeline, I think they'll break down his office door and attempt to ravish him." 

"They?" 

"Well, I can't say that I'm unaffected," Nikita admitted. She knew the training room had surveillance equipment. "How did you do with him, Madeline?" 

"Do you think this could cause any problems?" Madeline said, graciously side-stepping Nikita's question. 

"It could if any high priority missions come through before the air-conditioning is fixed." 

Madeline nodded her approval. "What do you think is the cause of this attraction to Michael?" 

Nikita uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. "Do you know anything about pheromones, Madeline?" 

************ 

"Michael?" Nikita poked her head inside his office. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" 

Michael's hands stilled on his keyboard. He paused and shifted his gaze to a point above the door frame. "Yes?" 

Nikita scooted inside before he could change his mind and shut the door behind her. She sauntered to his desk and ran her finger along the edge. 

"I'm busy, Nikita," he prompted after her long silence. 

"I don't know how you can be. Nothing's been going on around here for a while," she said, unfazed. When Michael didn't answer, Nikita threw out her trump card. "I just had a little chat with Madeline." 

Michael carefully punched in his code to halt the surveillance on his office and rubbed his chin. "What do you want, Nikita?" he asked. 

Nikita placed both palms on his desk and leaned forward. "I want to help you, Michael." Michael averted his eyes from her earnest face and blinked. Nikita was about to continue when she saw the skin around his eyes tighten. "Michael, what is it?" 

He erupted from his chair and crossed the distance to the small window in two strides. As Michael yanked the blinds closed, Nikita spied a pair of glasses perched on the opposite side of the glass. For the first time, Nikita also detected tension in his shoulders before he turned around. 

"I was wondering what they had done with it," she muttered under her breath. Michael crossed the office towards her with the same controlled fury he had displayed moments before. 

"Did you do this?" His voice was low. Nikita's vision swam at his nearness. Michael advanced on her and Nikita backed into the desk. She sat on the edge in relief, glad to take her weight off of her knees. 

"No," she finally managed to squeak out as his eyes searched his face. Nikita cleared her throat and tried again. "I found out about the missing equipment by accident. That's what I came in here to tell you. I think you should sweep your office and your quarters." 

Nikita then tried to cross her legs, but the hem rode up higher than she expected. Engrossed with readjusting her dress and _not_ looking at Michael, she didn't notice his eyes darken to a mossy green. Nikita gasped when he placed his warm hands on her knees, pulling them slowly apart. A moment later, his hands were planted on the desk on either side of Nikita's hips. Her knees were hugging his waist. 

"What about your talk with Madeline?" he asked, staring at her like he wasn't burning every bit of her skin that was in contact with him. Her eyes narrowed. Michael was too calm, while every nerve in Nikita's body jangled. She wanted to ruffle his feathers. 

She brought her hand up to his cheek, running her thumb along his slight stubble and tangling her fingers in a curl of hair. "Is this some kind of perverted test of Madeline's?" 

"I don't know," he said simply. 

Nikita moved her thumb slightly and raked her fingernail across his lower lip. The delicious warmth that had been pooling inside of her reacted with a jolt. She drew in a shaky breath as Michael leaned into her. 

"Do you like it, the way they look at you?" 

Michael's hand closed around her wrist firmly. "What?" he asked tonelessly. His expression was wary. He applied more pressure when Nikita didn't answer. The question accompanied by Madeline's exact phrasing sent a frisson of fear through him. She'd had a talk with Madeline. Did that mean she was following Madeline's orders now? 

"I'm asking because I don't." 

"Don't what?" Michael rasped. She eased her hand from his grasp and scratched her fingernails down his chest. His right hand pressed against the small of her back. 

"Like the way they look at you," Nikita ground out. She leaned forward and pressed her nose against Michael's throat, inhaling deeply. 

"Nikita?" 

She could feel Michael's question rumble up from his chest. She pressed her face against Michael's sternum and inhaled again. "It's your scent." She tilted her head back so she could see his expression. "You smell like sensuality, Michael. But it's more than that.." 

He nodded and said, "Pheromones." Then his hot mouth slanted across hers. Nikita reacted instantly, threading hands through his hair and arching against him. The kiss ended as Michael nibbled on her lower lip. 

Nikita pulled back an inch and chuckled breathlessly. "Face it; you're a walking sex magnet". 

The door swung open midsentence. Birkoff stood, silhouetted in the frame. Several emotions flit across his expressive face. Shock, amusement, jealousy...and finally, fear. 

"What is it?" Michael asked, giving Birkoff a impenetrable look. 

Birkoff swallowed convulsively, staring at the two people who hadn't yet bothered to untangle themselves from each other. "Uh, we have, uh, a new development with the Abbott mission." 

"We'll be with you in a few minutes, Birkoff," Nikita answered him briskly. Birkoff nodded jerkily and turned to go. 

"Birkoff!" Michael's voice halted him. 

"Shut the door, Birkoff," Nikita finished. She giggled into Michael's chest when Birkoff had averted his face to shut the door. She looked up to see a small smile gracing Michael's face. "We'd better hurry." 

Michael tucked his shirt back into his pants. Nikita frowned as she readjusted her dress. She didn't quite remember yanking it out. 

"Let's go," he said, gesturing that she go first. Nikita paused outside his office for him to catch up. She saw something flash out of the corner of her eye as she and Michael advanced toward Systems. Nikita saw the quarter rebound and land a few feet away. She bit her lip to keep from laughing at the expression on Michael's face. He stopped and glanced behind him. The group of mixed gender operatives burst into giggles. Nikita put her hand on his shoulder. 

"Operations won't be happy if you cancel them," she whispered in his ear. Nikita scampered back to scoop up the quarter. She tossed it in the air thoughtfully. "Besides, I think I can improve on your distance." 

************ 

"Abbott arranged a meet with his contact," Michael called out to Operations when he hit the top of the stairs. 

"Time and location," he demanded, turning away from Madeline. Michael took up his position behind and to one side of Operations. 

"Eight hours in an abandoned warehouse outside of D.C. A reconnaissance team is already en route." 

Operations nodded and started to step away from Michael. He brought one hand up to his temple. "Have a profile on my desk in one hour." 

Madeline went to his side after Michael left the room. "Are you all right?" Her hand grasped his wrist and took his pulse before he could refuse. 

"I was just feeling a little dizzy. I'm fine. I'm going back to my office, now," he told her condescendingly. 

Madeline stared at his back, blinking thoughtfully. She ducked her head and allowed a small smile to grace her lips. 

"Birkoff, I'd like to see Michael and Nikita in my office." 

She had noticed Michael's rumpled appearance earlier, but had chosen not to comment upon it. After seeing a rumpled Nikita pacing behind a seated Michael, Madeline knew her job was going to be much easier. If only Michael would stop sprawling in the chair, she would be able to fully concentrate. 

"Michael, it appears that this is not an anomaly. Six years ago, Section One had problems with the air conditioning during close quarters standby. Eleven years ago, there was a problem with the central heating at your previous location. Each time you were pursued by female operatives. Each time, the furor died down." 

Nikita stopped her pacing and placed her hands on the back of Michael's chair. "What happened that stopped all the, uh, interest in Michael?" 

Madeline smiled. "Each time, Michael did something that altered his chemical makeup. Eleven years ago, he began taking painkillers for an injury. Six years ago, he simply had sex." 

"Wait a minute, did he receive the injury from a mission?" Nikita asked, determined to stall for a moment. 

"No," Michael answered. 

"Michael was ambushed by ten former operatives. They dislocated his shoulder and fractured his wrist," Madeline supplied, and switched topics. "As we have a mission coming up, I need this problem fixed." 

Michael and Nikita went very still and quiet before her. "You want Michael to take drugs?" Nikita asked hopefully. 

"No, I'm ordering Michael to have sex. Preferably with someone who is familiar with the situation, and has been partnered with Michael before." 

Nikita bit her lower lip and ducked her head. She was tightly holding in a hysterical giggle. 

"Nikita?" 

"Yes?" Her voice was strangled. For all outward appearances, Nikita appeared upset. 

"Do you have a problem with this?" 

"Nope," Nikita answered, finally able to compose herself. 

"Then I'm giving you six hours to accomplish our objective." 

*********** 

Nikita followed Michael back to his office, resisting the urge to shout, "Race you!". Michael glanced back at her twice; each time, Nikita pasted an innocent smile on her face and tossed the quarter into the air. Michael went directly to his chair and switched on his computer. Nikita bolted the door. 

"What are you doing?" 

"I need to finish this profile," Michael said, keeping his reply brief. 

"How long are you going to keep me waiting?" Nikita asked, sauntering behind Michael's chair. When he didn't answer, she swung his chair around and put her hands on the arm rests. 

"Why don't you do it yourself?" Michael said. His voice remained cool, but his face was upturned in a challenge. 

Nikita sat down in Michael's lap and swiveled the chair around. "I think I will." Michael tensed beneath her. Nikita made some irritated sounds and wiggled around until her shoulders were resting against his chest. She gave a happy sigh. He slowly relaxed as Nikita pounded away at the keyboard and rested his chin on her shoulder in order to read the screen. 

"That's not fair!" Nikita gasped, her attention diverted by Michael's roving hand dipping into one of the numerous cut-outs of her dress. His thumb grazed the underside of a breast. Nikita's swift intake of breath became a moan when Michael bit the base of her neck. When she opened her eyes, Nikita saw the steady red light in the corner. "Michael, what about the camera?" 

She felt the sigh lift his chest. "Does it bother you?" he asked softly, his breath tickling her ear. 

"Does it bother you?" she said back. Nikita shifted sideways in the chair so she could see his face. 

His eyes were shuttered as he looked away. Nikita pressed her fingers against his chin and forced his gaze back to hers. He allowed it for a moment, only to press his lips against her ear. "Always." 

"And when those female operatives were -" 

"Always." 

"Really?" Nikita said, her tone belying her disbelief. At Michael's quicksilver grin, she giggle. "I knew it!" Her eyes narrowed abruptly. "It wasn't the chick with the charm bracelet, was it?" 

"I found the stunt with the quarter quite inventive," he murmured, head bent. He darted his tongue over the tops of Nikita's breasts and halted her laughter as his mouth found a pebbled nipple through the stretchy fabric. When Michael nipped at her with his teeth, she writhed against him and felt his response. When he took her other breast into his mouth, Nikita felt the floodgates open and a liquid heat bubbled up through her veins. 

"If you stop now, I'll swear I'll kill you," she rasped, skin sheened with sweat. He stared up at her, glassy-eyed and panting ever...so...slightly. Eyes telling her that nothing short of death _could_ stop him. 

"Put the computer on the floor," he growled. She sprang from the chair and followed his orders without question. 

"The desk?" 

"The desk." 

Nikita almost clapped with glee, but contented herself with wrapping her legs around Michael's waist as he leaned her back onto the desk. His hands burned a path from the backs of her thighs to her hips as his tongue lapped the velvety interior of her mouth. Michael groaned when he discovered that Nikita hadn't been wearing any underwear. Refusing to be parted from him, Nikita ripped his T-shirt up the seam. Paying him back in kind, Nikita swirled her tongue down his chest, intoxicated by his salty taste. 

"That's the second shirt I've lost today," he gritted, jerking her hips closer. 

"I've never thought I'd get to say this," Nikita mused, running her fingers up Michael's back to tangle them in his hair. "Michael, shut up and take your pants off." 

************ 

Nikita sat comfortably on Michael, his arms wrapped around her waist after she'd admonished him to be good. Her thoughts weren't being good as she finished the profile, however. Her eyes kept straying to the desk. 

He had taken her hard, fast and wild. One minute she was ordering him to take his pants off, and the next minute she couldn't breathe. His hands had been everywhere, anticipating her every desire; his mouth was slick and hot with a tongue of velvet. And just when she thought he had coaxed all pleasure from her that was humanly possible, Michael had scooped her up and sat hard on his chair. Nikita climaxed then as he buried his long, hard length completely inside her. And then he had begun to move again... 

The desk chair hadn't figured in her fantasy. Nikita silently chided herself for her lack of imagination as she typed the last sentence. 

"What do you think?" she inquired. Wordlessly, Michael read through the profile. 

"Send it to Operations." He hadn't made a single correction. She would never admit it, but when Michael displayed this kind of faith in her abilities, it thrilled her - sparking a liquid heat that burned only for him. 

"I think it's time I took another shower," she announced, pulling herself to her feet. She glanced down at her outfit. "Do you have anything I can wear, Michael? I can't exactly walk around Section like _this_ ," she said, pointing to the twin damp circles on her chest and raising a sultry eyebrow. 

Michael tossed the zippered shirt at her. Nikita caught it deftly and slipped it on over her minidress, breathing in his scent on the fabric. She unbolted the door and glanced over her shoulder. "Michael, haven't you ever heard of the slogan: 'Save water, shower with a friend'?" she demanded. 

"You're wearing my last shirt, Nikita," he told her, rising from his chair nonetheless. 

She shrugged ruthlessly. "They're not gonna mind." 

Michael nuzzled her neck. "Be prepared to protect me," he said, a smile tugging at his lips. 

"I won't let them hurt you," she purred, unable to keep her mocking grin from her lips. "Your place or mine?" 

"Yours. Fewer cameras." 

Nikita nodded and pulled open the door. She positioned herself between Michael and the bevy of open-mouthed operatives that milled about. The nearest tech dropped a thick sheaf of printouts. They advanced shoulder to shoulder. As the two cold ops passed Birkoff, he blushed twelve shades of red. Nikita sneaked a peak at Michael after they turned onto the hallway where her quarters were located. His hair was sexily mussed, lips swollen, and - were those scratch marks on his back? 

************ 

Birkoff lifted his head at the sudden scramble behind him. He pulled the half-chewed Twizzler from his mouth and wandered over to see what was the matter with his techs. 

"Oh. My. Gawd." The woman was fanning herself with a folded piece of paper. 

"Carrie, you have just got to see Michael and Nikita desk it!" 

"Desk it?" Birkoff inquired, moving to stand behind the tech who had spoken. She snagged a lock of her long hair and chewed on it nervously. The surveillance video playing on her monitor answered his question. Michael and Nikita were locked in a passionate embrace on top of his desk. They were moving together in an intensely erotic rhythm, long limbs and strong muscles flexing, red lips seeking. Birkoff reddened for the second time in the space of five minutes. Now he knew where Michael's scratch marks had come from. And now he fully understood what the term "desk it" meant. 

"Forget that!" Carrie shrieked, calling up a surveillance video of her own. Birkoff felt guilty but snuck a peek, regardless. Funny, but he didn't remember there being a camera in Nikita's bathroom... 

************ 

It had begun innocently enough, the shower. Michael had obligingly sudsed her hair and allowed Nikita to do the same. The problem arose when Michael's hands ventured farther south with the bar of soap. Nikita moaned deep in her throat as Michael insisted on touching her with only the bar, running it over her taut abdomen, circling her breasts. Nikita blinked water out of her eyes and reached for him, pulling Michael out of the spray to rub herself against his chest. The soap made her slippery against him, heightening their already strained senses. Her hard nipples scraped against him and Michael growled a warning. She could feel his readiness pressing into the softness of her belly. 

Nikita braced herself as Michael slammed her up against the back tiles of the shower. He hitched her up and Nikita wrapped her legs around his hips obligingly. She arched her back and gasped with pleasure when Michael slid into her. One arm was braced on the tiles above her head, the other caressing her buttocks and automatically tightening as he lifted and thrust into her again. Nikita grabbed hold of his shoulders for purchase. Her hips bucked and she felt herself slipping. 

Nikita gave a throaty groan of frustration. "The floor!" she demanded breathlessly. Michael didn't hesitate. He stepped over the lip of the shower, eliciting delicious sensations as Nikita clung to him. He laid her down gently on the pile of clothes and towels that had somehow found their way to the floor. 

************ 

Birkoff stared, dry-mouthed, watching Michael and Nikita thrust together like they were made for each other. He felt distinctly guilty that he was spying on the two. He'd never seen something so erotic and beautiful in his entire life, or something so private. Birkoff leaned forward and turned off Carrie's monitor. 

"Get back to work," he ordered. His people obeyed, grumbling and fanning themselves. Birkoff wandered back to his station. "I need a drink," he muttered, going in search for Walter. He could count on that old man to have a bottle stashed for emergencies. 

************ 

Nikita cracked open her eyes and fumbled for her watch on the night stand. She blinked and looked again. They only had an hour left! 

"Michael?" Nikita called gently. The covers flipped over at the foot of the bed. 

"Yes?" he replied, still muffled by several layers of blankets. Nikita dove under the covers to find him, muscles protesting. She crawled onto Michael's chest and sighed happily as she felt his arms around her. 

"I think I'll be walking bow-legged for a week," she whispered into his neck. Nikita felt Michael's chest shake with silent laughter. 

They hadn't made it to the bed after the shower. Well, the shower and the bathroom floor. Michael had dried her off with a slightly damp towel. Nikita had done the same for him, shocked that she was becoming aroused already. Michael was walking out of the bathroom with a towel snugged about his waist. Nikita had pounced on him from behind and convinced him that the hallway was a perfect place to make love. Nikita reflected ruefully that she might have to put in an order with maintenance to replaster the portion of the wall that she and Michael inadvertently kicked in... 

Michael had tossed her onto the bed after that, intent on taking a quick nap. He had informed her that he needed to, how did he put it, recharge? He'd lasted through fifteen minutes of Nikita wriggling to get comfortable on the narrow bed before he'd pinned her arms and begun an assault with his devastating mouth. All in all, they had only been sleeping for a half-hour. 

And as Nikita nuzzled Michael's neck, her body surprised her again by becoming heavy with desire. When she pressed a kiss onto his neck, Michael sighed deeply and muttered something under his breath. 

"What?" she asked dreamily. Michael ripped the covers away from their faces and inched down her body. 

"You're insatiable," he chuckled and immediately put his tongue to good use caressing her inner folds. 

Nikita gazed at Michael, propped up on her elbows with her face flushed with desire. "I'll never get enough of you, Michael." 

************ 

Precisely on time, Michael preceded Nikita down the steps, carrying himself farther into Madeline's office. Both operatives stood shoulder to shoulder before her desk, carrying themselves a little stiffly. Madeline smiled. She had seen the surveillance tapes, and was surprised that either operative could still walk normally. But then, both Michael and Nikita had always been superior operatives. 

"Has the mission been completed satisfactorily?" she asked, her voice as mild as ever. 

Nikita fought for control of her facial muscles, willing them not to form a sloppy grin. "Of course," she tossed out lightly before her voice could thicken with the desire she somehow still felt. 

Michael stood stoically as Madeline rose and walked around her desk. "There is no lingering attraction to Michael?" she asked. Nikita knew she was referring to the other operatives who had behaved so badly. 

"See for yourself," Nikita said, pasting her best Michael-face on and watching as Madeline took her proffered dare. 

Madeline moved in slowly. She placed her hands on Michael's shoulders and sniffed his neck delicately. She moved her face downward to sniff Michael's chest when Operations walked through the door with a PDA in hand. 

"Where are we on the Abbott mission?" he asked impatiently, freezing when he saw Madeline in what looked like a compromising position. For the first time, it appeared that Operations was speechless. 

Madeline pulled her hands away and returned to her seat behind the desk. Operations looked from one inscrutable gaze to another. 

"What's going on?" he finally asked. 

"The problem with Michael has been resolved satisfactorily. The Abbott mission team will leave egress in thirty minutes." Madeline looked at Michael. He got the hint; Michael gazed into Nikita's eyes and they moved in tandem. After this latest exploit, they seemed more connected than ever. This development was a two-edged sword, Madeline mused as Section's best team left her office to collect their weapons. Michael and Nikita could have silent conversations to which Madeline would not be privy. 

Operations continued to stare at her with a half-formed question on his lips. Madeline allowed it for a moment, before smiling warmly at him. "I have work to do." 

Operations decided to let it go and wandered out of her office, leaving Madeline to her busy work of erasing surveillance footage.


End file.
